


Blank Space

by smallerontheoutside (theinvisiblequestion)



Series: Playlist [10]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Boy Band, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 17:45:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3419852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinvisiblequestion/pseuds/smallerontheoutside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy masquerades as a <em>nouveau riche</em> for the gala.</p><p>(Inspired by Taylor Swift's song of the same name.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blank Space

The gala goes off without a hitch. Clarke’s mother buys the vague story Clarke makes up about Bellamy’s background, and Bellamy blends in easily enough. They stay longer than Clarke means to, but not that much longer, because Bellamy looks so good in his tuxedo that she keeps thinking about what he’d look like if she pulled on his tie and ran her fingers through his hair and maybe untucked his shirt a little bit.

She finds out what that looks like when they’re in the limo, although she doesn’t spend much time looking at him because it turns out he looks irresistibly hot. She’s glad there’s no one around but the driver to see them run from the limo into the house, because it’s not at all graceful the way her nylons make her slip on the steps up to the house, or the way Bellamy practically carries her through the door with his mouth on hers, or the way she drops her shoes and her clutch and Bellamy’s jacket at the coat rack. Nobody’s home, which is also good, because the way she’s got her legs wrapped around him as he walks up the stairs is far from ladylike, and the noise she makes when he digs his fingers into her thighs is downright vulgar.

When she points him toward her room, he drops her on the bed and peels off her pantyhose. She makes quick work of the buttons on his shirt, and on his trousers, and he makes quick work of the zipper on her dress. He trails hot, open kisses on her skin, sucking at her breasts when he passes over them, nipping at the sensitive spots on the rest of her body with his teeth. His hands wander over her skin when he kisses her mouth again, until his fingers find the warmth between her legs and she is _so_ turned on and she’s about to lose it just from his mouth on her skin and his fingers teasing her, but then he backs off and leaves her aching.

“Bellamy,” she whines.

He stretches out next to her and pulls her to him with one hand. He’s hard against her thigh, and she _wants_ , except he’s dragging it out like a game, deliberately driving her crazy. He murmurs her name into her neck, into her lips, into the hollow of her clavicle.

“Tease,” she growls, and then she shoves him backward and pushes herself up so she’s straddling him, her nether lips right up against his cock, her hips grinding against his until he’s biting his lip and digging his fingers into her thighs again and when he stammers her name, she backs off, grinning wickedly.

“Tease,” he growls, and she drops back down next to him. He pulls her knee up over his leg and finally enters her and they rock together, closer and closer. His breath is hot on her neck and the hand that doesn’t have an iron grip on her thigh is tangling in her hair. He comes first, her name and her skin at his lips, and she’s so close, _so close_ and then his thumb rolls over her clit, sending her over the edge. He presses open-mouthed kisses to her pulse point, over and over, until the tremors of the aftershocks fade and they’re tangled together panting and sweaty.

He untangles himself from her, and she kisses his mouth lazily. They lay under the covers together for a while, until Clarke starts to fall asleep. She feels Bellamy’s lips on her forehead, and then the shift of weight as he gets off the bed. “Bellamy?” she mumbles.

“Your mom’s going to be home soon.”

Clarke shakes her head. “No, she’s not.”

“Clarke, it’s way past midnight.”

“No, she’s going to Kane’s. She always does.”

“I shouldn’t be staying anyway.”

“Don’t make me come over there,” she scolds. “Get your skinny ass back here.”

Bellamy laughs. “Alright, alright.” He climbs back into bed, kissing her over and over and murmuring, “Damn good thing I love you, princess, or I’d never put up with all this high-handed bullshit.”

Clarke freezes. “What?”

“I said, it’s a good thing I like you.”

“No, you didn’t.” She pushes herself up so she’s sitting in front of him. “That’s not what you said.”

His head falls. “Fuck. Forget I said anything.”

“That wasn’t part of the agreement, Bellamy,” she says, annoyed. _No strings_ meant no feelings and no dates and _absolutely_ no L-words.

“Just forget it, Clarke.”

“No, I can’t, not now that it’s out there.”

Bellamy heaves a sigh and runs a hand through his hair. “Fine. I guess I’ll just—yeah.” He gets up, rounds up his clothes, and goes to the guest bathroom to get dressed. She hears him leave, and when he’s gone, she curls up under the covers.

(If she spends the day in pajamas watching shitty flicks and crying, it’s just because she’s PMSing.)


End file.
